Mama, I'm Inlove With A Criminal
by noalarms
Summary: Harley Quinn/Joker "Mad Love" remake. Harleen, a Psychiatrist only six months in, has been working on difficult case after difficult case, and can't seem to crack the code to any of her patient's psyches. Warden Sharp gives her a real challenge, and as she dives deeper and deeper into her case, loses touch on the meaning of morality and sanity. Rated M for violence/sex/etc later on
1. Enter The Exterminator

The world is a joke.

We live by these ridiculous, oppressive social standards and the bar is raised every day. The media portrays this "American Lifestyle" but it's shit. It's all bullshit.

She gulped in another mouthful of water as she lay at the bottom of a river, rope tied to a cinderblock attached to her ankles. Her wrists were restrained by zipties and she knew it was over. This was it. This is how she would die.

And she accepted that.

Her bleach blonde hair swayed in the gentle waves of the water, floating above her. She closed her eyes and then opened them, trying to adjust to seeing her underwater surroundings. She felt like a mermaid.

He came, then. The man cloaked in the darkness of night, saving her from the depths of the river that almost consumed her.

Everything leading up to this point was an overwhelming string of fuck ups, and now this man was saving her, for what? So that she can endure more bullshit?

She fought him off of her but it was pointless, he was getting her out of the water whether he drowned too or not, and she couldn't wrap her head around that.

She was finally going to die, and he destroyed it.

Vomit spurted out of the pits of her stomach, all lake water and bile, and she was turned to her side so that her cheek was pressed to the wooden deck.

"Where is he?" The familiar voice rumbled, his hand grabbing her arms in a lock to keep her secured. She coughed a few more times and then smiled weekly, "Mista J doesn't telll no one his master plan. Not even me."

A loud growl erupted from the cloaked man as he smashed her harder ino the ground, "Tell me!"

"Trust me cowboy, I'd love to know too." She said, a solemn tone to her voice. She meant want she said – The Joker put her in this situation and the only thing keeping her and The Bat from getting in a brawl was that they both wanted the same thing – Him.

Batman's face fell slightly, his empathy showing a little despite the kevlar bat mask that cloaked everything but his mouth, yet he remained neutral, unemotional, unmovable. How do people live like that? So shielded?

The hold on her arms grew tighter and she grimaced in pain, but she laughed it out, only making the Bat more angry because she reminded him of Joker. But she laughed, laughed, and laughed some more.

Who would'a thought sweet little bubble-gum pink lipped Harleen Quinzel would turn into _this?_

CHAPTER ONE

Her heart raced in her chest, but she remained firm, her hands clasped painfully tight on her lap. The man in front of her was large in size and his eyeballs bulged angrily out of his sockets.

"You don't care, do you?" He spit, squirming around in his straight jacket, "You put me back in this thing. _You_."

Her eyes were wide and threatened to spill tears, but she cleared her throat, "You've been hiding your medication . . . there have been signs of budding mania . . . I only did what was safe for you." Harleen spoke, her voice quivering a little.

He grew angrier, "You don't care."

The strong man before her broke free of his restraints, then reached out to grab her, only to fall to the ground as he forgot his feet were still chained to the cement floor. He screamed out, clawing at her, and she quickly stood up and away from his grasp.

What could she possibly do to reverse this ? She didn't want to just push the panic button like everyone else would.

Staring at the inmate in awe of his strength, she searched through her mind for information he may have given her to a possible weakness. How could she calm him down?

Slowly, she stepped toward her desk.

"What are you gonna record this too?"

She took her clipboard and, standing in front of him, tall and unshaken, she broke it in half over her knee.

"We don't need notes." She said kindly, lowering slowly down to her knees, putting her hands down to touch the ground.

The man stared curiously at her. The curiosity began to take over his anger.

"Can I come closer?" She asked, tilting her head to the right, her bright green eyes staring into his. He was still breathing hard, but he stopped struggling in his restraints so much.

She crawled over to him and carefully reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I care."

His eyes grew kind for a moment, then, as if he'd felt like he'd just let down his inpenetrable wall in front of her, grew angry once more for the invasion.

Harleen stood up and backed away before he could grab at her. He'd been her patient for so long, she could sense when he was going to snap. He was like a cat, gentle to the touch one moment, then angry in the next, ready to claw at you.

She had moved so fast that her pencil skirt ripped down the right side, and she finally gave in and pressed on the emergency button that every employee of Arkham wore.

In minutes, security rushed inside and grabbed at the man as he wiggled in their grip.

"GET OFF OF ME!" He yelled, "DR. QUINZEL, SAVE ME, THEY'RE HURTING ME!"

She knew he was only saying that to make her feel guilty, but even so, she still felt that guilt in her chest. She had to give in, she couldn't mend the situation.

It had been like this for _weeks_.

She watched as her patient was strapped down to an upright stretcher and taken away to isolation to calm down, and she sat on the corner of the desk, staring at the broken clipboard laying on the ground. She sighed sadly, covering her face with her hands and taking some deep breaths.

If she didn't get her act straight, she'd be sent out here and would be forced to downgrade to a minimum wage job until she could find another asylum to work at. She didn't want to resort to Blackgate – she loved Asylums. She knew she could be a positive change.

But _when?_

Slowly, she walked down the linoleum flooring, the click-clack of her heels the only sound. She felt powerful when she heard that sound, but right now, it was a walk of shame, and the loud steps made her heart sink lower and lower into the pit of her stomach.

She was headed to Warden Sharp's office regarding her last session with her inmate. It had only been a matter of time until he would take her away from him.

All that time getting to know him, the disability leave when he'd hurt her, the ways in which she'd made progress where others hadn't . . . all down the drain.

No one could take care of her patients like she could. No one.

Stopping in front of his office door, she stared at his gold name plate, her body growing tense. She mustered up the courage and lightly tapped her knuckles against the wooden door.

The muffled voice of the warden welcomed her in, and she swallowed hard as she slowly twisted open the handle and stepped inside.

"Have a seat, Miss. Quinzel." He spoke, stacking papers and using a stapler to clip them together. He continued to organize his desk as she sat down, placing her purse on her lap as she shyly watched him finish up.

"Okay," He said, folding his hands on the desk and staring back at the young doctor in front of him, "I assume you know why you are here."

She mashed her lips together and held her purse tighter, "Patient Seth Brown, Sir?"

He nodded, "That's correct."

There was a silence as he took a sip of scotch and sat the ice cold glass onto a coaster.

"You've made no progress. We thought a bright mind like you with such grades could crack the code to his psyche, but he's only seemed to get worse."

Her heart began to beat faster and she believed she was in the middle of a panic attack, but she shoved it away so that she could remain professional in front of her boss. She did not want to seem nervous, but she was sure she was in the middle of being fired.

"So, we've put together a new case for you." He said, and her eyes widened.

"You're not—" His laughter interrupted her, and he shook his head.

"No, you're not being fired. You're being moved to a new patient. Someone a little more complicated."

She was confused. "More complicated? I'd think you'd send me back down to the simpler inmates ..."

He leaned back in his chair and lit up a cigar, "Oh, no, we think that Seth is untreatable. You didn't make any progress, but you put up with him for a long time – longer than anyone else has. You deserve someone … trickier."

Excitement boiled in her chest as she listened to her boss.

"Are you familiar with the recent robbery in the Gotham Merchant Bank?" He asked, taking short little puffs of his cigar.

Harleen leaned in closer, "Yes, I've been watching the news on it whenever I can."

"Well, Doctor," He said, "There's reason to believe that The Joker is behind it."

She visibly drew back, her nerves creeping up on her, "Oh . . . really?"

Warden Sharp nodded, smoke swirling around the dimly lit room, "He was restrained and taken back to the Asylum last night. We gave him a round of electroshock and tied him to his bed in a bullet proof cell in the Intensive Treatment Center."

"Okay . . . I've been reading all about this, actually, The Joker has always fascinated me. But . . . what does this have to do with me?" She asked, her brows furrowing together.

"You are going to be The Joker's new Psychiatrist."

It took her a moment to process, but when she did, she scooted back in her chair.

"I've read a lot about his last Psychiatrists . . . how they always end up."

He nodded, "It's a dangerous case. But we believe a young mind like you, beautiful and charming, could make some progress with him. We need fresh outlooks on a complicated man such as The Joker, and you could be a very valuable asset to his file."

She looked down, staring at her heels, picturing the scenario in her head. How would she act when she first meets him? How will he react to her? What will they talk about?

She wasn't sure if she could do it.

Though, when she came in here, she thought she was going to get fired. Maybe this was a test to see how committed she was to her job? She couldn't afford to say no, not after all the work she did to get here.

"I'd be honored, Sir." She said, smiling a little, "I appreciate your understanding."

He seemed surprised that she didn't turn down the proposition, but rolled with it anyway.

"Right now he is being sedated, as he tends to be more on the manic side the first few days of coming here. He will calm down when he's used to the structure of the asylum."

She felt a pinch of sadness for him, but didn't allow herself to sympathize with a mass murderer just yet – she hadn't even met him yet.

"Okay. So when do I start?"

Pulling out a case file larger than she'd ever seen, he dropped it down on the desk in front of her.

"Right now. Study up on him and create a plan."

She stared, eyes wide, at the folder in front of her, but picked it up and held it close to her chest. She stood up as the warden did and gave a firm handshake.

"Good luck, Miss Quinzel. I'll be looking forward to seeing what you can do."

"Thank you so much. I won't let you down."

When Harleen stepped out of the office and walked down the flooring, she headed straight to the break room to brew some coffee. The smell woke her up, and the cigar Warden Sharp smoked no longer lingered in her nostrils. She opened up her file and, low and behold, there he was. A picture of him, the notorious Clown Prince that ruled Gotham City's underworld.

"Shit." She whispered, her chest tightening, and she looked around to see if anyone was there before popping a few valium and chewing them before swallowing them down with a sip of black coffee. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, rubbing her temples in frustration.

She could do this. This is what she's always wanted, a real challenge.

But she had to admit, she was scared to death.

* * *

Alright, so that's chapter one! I've been delaying on posting anything until I had a decent amount written, and I should be posting once a week. Today is Tuesday, so I'll try to get another one out next Tuesday. Thank you for reading, I am open to constructive critiism - any comments would be greatly appreciated. 3


	2. Birds of Hell Awaiting

**CHAPTER TWO**

Harleen had always been an unusual girl. Her interests never seemed to align right with the kids around her. She learned quickly that in order to move ahead in life, you had to adapt, and adapt she did. She joined gymnastics and cheerleading, and made sure to listen to what the other girls talked about so that she knew how to behave. She always felt a little 'off', and she could sense that everyone else felt it too, but as long as she followed the rules, no one paid much mind.

Growing up in Gotham City, violence is all you ever see. Everyone growing up in the city reacts to it differently - some deny it, some embrace it, and some fight for what is good and moral. Harleen, however, developed a fascination of death.

She followed all of the crimes, cutting out newspaper clippings and pasting them into her various journals. She read up on forensics and soon discovered the vast world of abnormal psychology, and she was hooked. While the other kids in school played games when the teachers allowed break time, she studied her interests. It felt like lava in her chest, pooling through her limbs and flowing through her pencil as she took notes. Nothing made her feel more alive than criminology.

Through these interests, she discovered another side of herself, one that had been aching for release her entire life, she just hadn't known it before.

Harleen stood in the mirror, all strapped up in latex lingerie and leather straps. She ran her thumb down her hip and curved it underneath her garter belt, lifting and snapping it against her pale skin, causing her thigh to jiggle. She turned around and checked out her ass, perky and firm, and grabbed a handful before smacking it hard enough to leave a red hand print. The pain jolted through her body, causing her hairs to stand on end and her nipples to harden.

Her interest in BDSM was her best kept secret.

She had a hidden drawer in her closet full of all kinds of toys - rope, handcuffs, ballgags, whips, tassels, you name it, she had it.

Harleen loved to prance around in her kinky little outfits before work, putting on dark music and tall black stilettos, shaking her ass and getting a good look at herself. She had the wildest fantasies swirling through her mind, and she longed to act them out, but how could you when you spent your entire life fighting to conform?

In a world where women are told how to behave, how to dress, how to _be_ , she felt good when she transformed. She felt like this was her true self.

Today, she would wear her lingerie underneath her pencil skirt and blouse. No one would know except for her, and damn, did it make her feel powerful. It gave a boost to her confidence, it was _fun_ and, honestly, a major turn on.

Smiling at herself in the mirror as she covered up in her clothes, she began to mentally prepare herself for her meeting with Warden Sharp regarding her new patient.

She spent days pouring through every paper in that file, accidentally pulling all-nighters and popping adderall to stay focused.

And she couldn't get him out of her head. She must have seen every single documentary on The Joker, and, though scared she was, she was totally captivated by him. He had a charisma that bled through him, whether you were in his presence or just watching him on TV. He was wild, chaotic, and had zero inhibition. He constantly put himself in life or death circumstances, but always came back.

Looking at the clock and realizing she was running late, she quickly packed up all of her things and ran out of her apartment to catch a taxi.

* * *

 **You don't understand me. You are not expected to. You are not capable of it. I am beyond your experience.**

 **\- Richard Ramirez**

* * *

"You'll be needing an office to work from," Warden Sharp spoke, walking at such a slow pace that Harleen could barely stand it – she was so excited she felt she could run through the hallways.

He put in the code to open the door and they were led out of the Intensive Treatment Facility into the outdoors. The air was thick with humidity as rain poured from the black clouds above, all the plants releasing their fragrant protective oils into the air. Snipers in guard towers above cast red beams that monitored the entire area, as break-outs and even break- _ins_ were routine in Arkham.

Dauntingly large gargoyles seemed to sneer at you as you walked past, ready to pounce at any moment to claw out your eyes.

She loved it.

The Warden opened up a black umbrella and continued onward, lighting another one of his cigars. A large statue of him cast a shadow that reminded you of his authority and power, but he walked right past it without even looking. Harleen couldn't grasp this nonchalance in this silent stroll through Arkham Island.

He put in the code to get into Arkham Mansion and let them into the building, one that she'd never been in before. Her heart leaped with joy to be advancing in her career enough to warrant her _own_ office.

Sharp blew thick smoke into the air, "Miss Quinzel," he began, "It's a pleasure to have you here. With cases like The Joker, you must build a new team with new ideas to try and understand this man and create a treatment plan. You are a very lucky girl."

Harleen inwardly rolled her eyes at the condescending undertones to his welcome, but she smiled big anyways.

"Thank you so muc-"

"Here are the keys," He interrupted, putting them in her hand and then rolling up his sleeve to look at his watch. He must be a busy man.

"I'm running late for a meeting. We'll be seeing eachother soon."

The two shook hands and he turned around to continue smoking down the hallway. Late, but no need to rush. She wished she had power like that.

She looked down at the key in her hand and held it close to her chest. The old doctor's name was still on the door, but she figured that could be changed easily.

With excitement boiling in her chest, she shoved the key in the hole and twisted the knob, nearly slamming the door open. She walked in and took in the smell of old wood and disinfectant, and hurried to her large mahogany desk that wrapped around her in a 'U' shape. It was filled with drawers that could hold everything she needed.

She hung her purse on the coat rack and put her suitcase on the desk to pull out The Joker's file, and placed a few things around her. Pencils, pens, notebooks, binders, etc, the usual office supplies.

"Eeee!" She squealed, wiggling and jumping, "This is going to be so great!"

* * *

Through the double doors and down the red flooring of the Intensive Treatment Facility, a familiar laughter echoed through the halls, sending chills through all who inhabited the island.

The Joker lay in his cell, one leg crossed over the other as he whistled the Jingle Bells theme. The chains from his ankle cuffs rattled as he bounced his foot along with the rhythm, the sedatives in his blood finally worn off. He had scars from the electroshock which probably weren't supposed to have lasted so long - but the Arkham Staff get a pass to do whatever they wanted to do with him. He was "untreatable" - Hah! What a joke!

A loud, screeching laugh bellowed from the depths of his stomach and transitioned to a fit of low, grumbly giggles at the thought of himself being "cured". Cured of what, exactly? Every label had been placed on him, from Schizophrenia to Antisocial Personality Disorder. You name it, he had it. Some of his psychiatrists, bless their hearts, even tried coming up with a new disorder to give him.

It was almost _sad_.

The Joker was the first Gotham-birthed super villain. It had only been a few years since his reign on the city, and he was already vastly feared. He even inspired a few to break out of their shells and let insanity drive them.

Right now, though, he was feeling kind of . . . bored.

It had been the same thing since he created Two Face - break out of Arkham, scare the shit out of the city, piss off the Bat until he batters him to a pulp, annoy him with a one sided conversation on the way to Arkham, lather, rinse, repeat.

He wanted something new, something that would really show Batman that he couldn't win, whether he killed The Joker or not, because his empire of chaos sends ripples of crime waves through the city and inspires people to free themselves from the shackles of societal expectations. When he turned Harvey Dent into Two Face, he created a monster that could take his place when he was in Arkham. Someone who Batman had to fight, but reminded him of The Joker's reign of terror and how it's impacted everyone in the city.

He could feel himself getting excited at the thought of a new plan, but what?

Then, there were footsteps approaching.

Raising his eyebrows, he looked through the transparent bulletproof door and stood up.

* * *

He was statuesque, standing at six feet tall, with thick veins running through large, scarred hands that clenched and released repeatedly. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and there was a wild look in his eyes, full of a manic energy and cat-like curiosity. His makeup long since washed off, and dark roots peeked out from his slightly wavy green hair with pieces that hung in his eyes. A tooth was missing, and there was a large scar on his right eye along with a purple and green bruise on his cheekbone. He had an angled nose with full lips.

She felt her heart nearly bursting out of her chest with every beat, her veins coursing with adrenaline, as she looked at the guard next to her, then turned and looked at The Joker, who scanned the room before his eyes, too, fell on her.

He was breathing heavily, a small grin playing at his lips, and he curled his fingers into the holes of the bulletproof door that separated them. He moved his face closer to the door, and she stepped forward, slowly, captivated by this man before her. He tilted his head to the right, and then mouthed, "Are you an angel?" before yelling "BOO!", causing her to yell and stumble backwards. She clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in shock, while The Joker laughed maniacally.

"Knock it off, Clown." The guard grumbled, obviously shaken, but he held his gun firm in his hands, aiming it at the Joker.

"Please, lower that," Harleen spoke.

The man must have not heard her because he remained locked onto her patients glare, his gun still pointed at his chest.

"Lower your gun." She spoke louder, and he turned and stared agape at her before lowering it, shrugging and shaking his head in disbelief.

She was stuck in his gaze.

No one had looked him in the eye in a long time – the only other person who ever looked him in the eyes was Batman.

He was temporarily awe struck by her, shivering and holding her clipboard tightly to her chest, her skirt so form fitting, revealing an athletic tone to her body. She wore black thick rimmed glasses, and had a pencil through the messy bun in her brown hair. Her eyes were the same emerald as his, and hairpin bowed lips were a deep, shiny scarlet.

"Why, what do I owe the honor?" The Joker began, his lips curling upward as his expression darkened, "Ol' Sharpie really is desperate, sending a tiny little thing like you."

Harleen felt a flush through her body, warming her neck and cheeks, "Mister J - Mister Joker?"

As a man of primal nature, his ears perked up at the sound of the woman's voice, "This is he," He spoke, enunciating each word and cocking his head to the side.

"My name is Harleen," She spoke up, "Harleen Quinzel. I'm your new psychiatrist and I'd just like to say-"

The green haired man blinked a few times and let out an ear-piercing laugh, "Save the monologue, princess."

She swallowed hard, her nerves causing her to tremble slightly, but she did her best to focus her mind away from her anxiety as The Clown Prince looked her up and down.

The guard was livid, his face hot and red, a large vein throbbing on his forehead as he gripped his gun, knowing fully well that he couldn't just shoot him, but _damn,_ did he want to.

"Enough." The beefy man spit at the man – if he even _was_ a man.

The Clown Prince giggled, holding his hands on his head and winking at him. He got a good laugh out of toying with the guards because they were so predictable. He didn't fight as he was secured to an upright stretcher with restraints to be transferred to the Medical Facility.

With guns pointed, they swarmed inside to cuff him accordingly.

Harleen resisted the urge to shake her head and tell them to be more gentle. She hated the sight of even the slightest prejudice towards any inmates, but did not have the authority to tackle that issue _quite_ yet.

The Joker remained wholly uninterested, like a rag doll he complied to the security measures taken to control him. He knew the process better than anyone in the Asylum, he'd been locked up so many times.

He was silent, but even so remained large and intimidating in his presence. He was magnetic. Everything rotated around him.

Harleen, visibly drawn back, searched for the words to say as she watched the men begin to wheel him down the hallway.

"Category 5 patient. Shoot to kill permissions granted."

As they began towards the facility, Harleen struggled to keep up in the shiny, red heels that suffocated her feet. She was in pain, but covered it up with a smile.

"Say, Doc," The Clown spoke, "why are you escorting me?"

She paused for a moment, fidgeting under the intense power of his stare, and broke his gaze for a moment to collect herself before continuing, "As a new Psychiatrist here at Arkham, I plan on introducing new ways of going about treatment."

The Joker raised his eyebrows and laughed, "Right, I've never heard _that one_ before," he replied sarcastically, fighting against the electroshock induced exhaustion that begged him to close his eyes.

"Alright," She sighed, and then giggled quietly to herself. This intrigued the man, and he diverted his attention away from his thoughts and back to her.

"Would you like to hear something funny?" She asked.

They stopped inside of the large metal elevator and a guard pressed the button to go down to the first floor.

"Well," she began as if what she was about to say was the funniest thing he'd ever hear in his life, "my name is Harleen Quinzel, right? Take away a few letters-" she snickered, "and you get Harlequin." She giggled, "Get it? I can be the _Harlequin_ , to your _Joker._ "

Suddenly, the killer threw his head back and laughed.

"Now _that_ is a new one," He smiled at her darkly.

She experienced a mixture of joy and fear as she smiled back.

"This is as far as you can go, Doctor." The Guard said, putting his gun down and letting the other men take control. "I'll escort you back to your office."

"Thank you." She smiled, then turned her attention back to the man being wheeled away. His laughter sounded like thunder, an impending storm ahead.

She watched the industrial doors shut tight, cutting off all noise, the silence thick and suffocating. His laughter had been cut off, but it echoed in the back of her head like a broken record.

"Let's go, Dr. Quinzel." The guard spoke, relaxing a little.

"Ah, sorry, thanks." She mumbled, walking slowly behind the guard, remaining stuck in her own head.

She couldn't _wait_ to see him again.

* * *

So, I managed to get another chapter out before the week was over. Hell yeah.

Yes, Harleen is a brunette still in my version of this story. Cause I have an ideaaaaaa.

Thanks for reading xoxo


	3. Do or Die

Harleen's heels clacked against the stone pathway up to the Arkham Mansion, clipboard in hand, suitcase in the other.

She dug through her white doctors coat to look for the pills in her pocket. Chewing on her pills, she chugged some black coffee out of a thermis and let out a long sigh, watching the warm carbon dioxide mix into the otherwise biting cold breeze.

It was November, and the naked trees were slicked in a hard coat of ice. The moon was large and yellow, matching the dimly lit lightposts surrounding the area.

This was her favorite time the year and, though nervous she was, she felt she could tackle The Joker and advance in her career from this point forward. This was what she'd been praying for every night, and she knew deep inside that she had a strength that pushed her no matter what she endured.

With a pep in her step, she nearly hopped to the door and flung it open, her long ponytail whippping around and over her shoulder. She met the eyes of the security guards behind a glass door and leaned on the side of the counter, holding her ID up to her face.

"Howdy, Joe, Whadd'ya know" She cheesed, her pearly whites shining in the light behind him. The man laughed, his stomach shaking as he nodded his head and began typing away at a computer.

Joe was a guard she'd been flirting with since day one of her working here. He was tall, standing at 6'2'', with blonde hair and icy blue eyes.

He sighed, taking a sip of coffee, "Same day, different shit."

"You won't be a very happy person sayin things like that, ya know?" She warned, letting the man scan her ID card, making a 'bloop' noise.

"I never claimed to be happy," He smiled, then pressed the code to let her inside, "You stay safe now, Miss Harleen." His southern accent made her melt a little bit but she played cool and waved goodbye as she walked through the door, the freezing air unforgiving after having just came in from the cold.

She smiled and waved at nurses and staff as she made her way to the break room to sit down and relax for a moment, as she had gotten here thirty minutes early so that Doctor Young and her would have a chance to talk about Harleen's treatment plan for Joker.

She sprinkled a tiny bit of cinnamon in her coffee grounds along with some vanilla bean. Other staff should be showing up later, and she was always known for leaving a filter filled with only the best, all natural coffee with different flavorings each time. You were considered lucky to get to the break room just in time for it. Everyone loved her for this.

One thing Harleen knew how to do was make friends.

Smiling to herself, she placed her things on the small brown fold-up table. She took out The Joker's file, and had a basket full of a few personal items that she wanted to decorate her office with.

Peeking at her rose gold watch, she made a mental note that Doctor Young was a little late.

Harleen was an impatient girl.

Not too much longer, though, Doctor Young came walking in a rush.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," She said breathily, placing some papers onto a desk and organizing the things in her hands, "Lots of meetings. You understand."

Harleen stood up slowly, smiling, "Of course. Come sit down, I'm brewing a pot of cinnamon vanilla coffee for us."

The doctor smiled excitedly, "I've been hearing about that."

Harleen pulled out a chair for her and poured the Doctor and herself a cup of steaming coffee, then carried it over to the table.

"So, Doctor Quinzel," She began, her eyes boring into Harleen's, "New Doctor here at Arkham, you ready to take on a case like The Joker?"

Harleen straightened her shoulders and back, sitting taller, "This is the kind of opportunity I've been hoping for, Ma'am."

The woman cocked an eyebrow, and looked down at some paperwork.

"Seth Green." She spoke, staring at the paper for a long time. Harleen sat there quietly, nervousness tightening her throat. Doctor Young looked up again, "You couldn't treat him. What makes you think you can treat The Joker?"

Harleen paused for a moment, staring off at a painting on the wall to appear thoughtful, and then crossed her legs as she looked back into the Doctor's eyes, "I believe that it is important to match a patient with a personality that they can respond to. Seth Green was simply not a good match with my temperament, and it set him off a lot."

The doctor's eyes squinted, and she crossed her arms, "So you're saying that you're like The Joker?"

Harleen shook her head, "No, no, of course not. What I am saying, though, is that there is a unique word play to my name that matches his persona. There's my opening. You know of my past in gymnastics, correct? There's a chance for a real connection here!" Harleen could feel herself getting excited, and her heart began to race against her chest, filling her blood with energy. She tried to cool it off, but it was very difficult.

Doctor Young looked doubtful, clicking her pen against the table, "And I see you've requested no security guards?"

Harleen nodded, "We're trying a new approach, correct? Nothing else has worked. I decided to do something risky and try to get into his world by trusting and showing no fear. I'd like to create a friendly atmosphere, not so strict and routine. That's not his character. He doesn't respond well to it."

Doctor Young looked at her, unmoving, then nodded, "Are you sure about this?"

Harleen smiled, "Positive."

The older doctor tapped her pen against her folder then stood up and began to put her things in her suitcase, "You've signed a waiver saying that the hospital is not responsible for your decision to go about this way of treatment, correct?"

She nodded.

"Alright, so that's it."

Harleen paused for a moment, looking around as she stood up, "That's it?"

"That's it."

Harleen blinked a few times, then smiled and stuck out her hand, "Fellow Doctor."

Doctor Young raised her eyebrows at her, but shook her head and gave her a small, yet genuine smile, "Doctor."

Harleen relaxed as soon as she was gone, then noticed some papers that fell to the floor. Looking around, she walked over and picked them up, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Titan serum? What was that?

Blinking in confusion, she folded the papers and shoved them in her pocket, before going back to her newly brewed coffee.

* * *

Harleen Quinzel tapped her red heels together as she held two tall coffees, excited yet nervous for the day. She looked at her gold bracelet watch – she was an hour early as usual. She liked to come in early to get a look around the place and memorize the locations. Today she visited the Botanical Gardens.

The thick roots twisted and gnarled around with bright green leaves and scatttered blossoms. There were vines covering the interior and running along the stone ground. Passing around an angel fountain, the water sprinkling gently into the tiny pool below, and along with the soft breeze created a calm atmospere to the otherwise creepy aura of Arkahm Island.

She liked it here.

About a week ago, she got the Warden to agree that she didn't need security with her when she finally met The Joker. They had been pushing the date back further and further, perhaps to see if she'd back out, but she remained firm, and finally her wishes were granted. She was so excited she could burst.

Harleen stopped walking as she approached the entrance to the Intensive Treatment Center. She thought about how he was so close to her already, and a chill ran through her body.

Today she wore her most kinky undergarments under a wool-crepe skirt and stockings with Ralph Lauren heels. She unbuttoned the top of her semi-tight blouse and reapplied her statement pink YSL lipstick. Picking back up the suitcase she placed beside her, she pressed in the code with high confidence and stepped inside of the institution.

Immediately she was hollared at by horny inmates in holding cells, but she walked forward in determination, ignoring the demeaning comments.

"Harleen, we've been expecting you." The security guard spoke with a firm voice, standing behind the bulletproof glass of his tiny office next to the next part of the building.

Harleen smiled and loosened the tense muscles in her shoulders, "Patient Joker."

The guard raised his eyebrows and checked the database, nodding when he saw her name. Sighing, he scanned her ID card and pressed the code to open up the large metal doors. With a last glance, the guard looked her in the eyes, "They'll eat you alive in there."

She could feel a tingle in the back of her skull as she walked by herself down the hallway. It had a really haunted feeling here, and she suddenly felt more cold than usual. She brushed it off as being all in her head, straightened her shoulders, and carried on.

Harleen stood in front of the last metal door between her and The Joker and took a deep breath to calm her heart rate before going inside.

Walking slowly, one polished heel in front of the other, she approached the man's cell. He was strapped to chains that hooked around his wrists and ankles and secured to the ground. He was sitting indian style with his hands on his knees meditating. This intrigued her a little, and she watched him for a moment before he finally spoke up.

"I don't want any girls scouts cookies." He muttered, apparently sensing her prescence despite how deep in concentration he was.

She smiled nervously, "I brought you my special coffee."

He peeked one eye open at that, and saw her smiling face before him.

She held the coffee up and jangled the keys to his cell in the other hand.

"I have immunity to all poisons, so i'll take the coffee. But good try." He cackled.

"I made it special, but not that special."

He looked around with a confused expression on his face, "No guards?"

"It's just you and me."

Raising his eyebrows, he looked her up and down, "No panic button?"

She shook her head.

It was amazing to look at him.

You see him all the time in the news and media that to actually sit in front of him was terrifying and surreal. Harleen could hardly look away from him. His eyes were large and manic, but yellow and bloodshot. There was a botch job of a stitching on the corner of his eye, and deep, dark brusing running along his cheekbone.

"Mister Joker." She nodded to him, "I've already introduced . . . "

"Ahhh, yes, dear Harlequin." He began, smiling and leaning back in his chair, "You here to analyze me, get in my head, find out my past."

She cocked her head to the right and smiled as she put the keys in the hole, "Something like that. Now, what happened to your face?"

The Joker pointed at himself in shock and laughed.

Harleen furrowed her brows, "You're seriously injured. What did they go through down at Medical?"

The Joker giggled, "Well, if you really wanna know, Sharpie sure knows how to use his fingers." and mimed the act of putting on a glove and performing a prostate exam.

Harleen blushed at the joke, but remained professional and held back the giggle that struggled to escape her. She swallowed hard, her entire body tensing up as she heard the click of the unlocking of the cell door, and she slowly walked inside.

The Joker was like a black hole, and she could feel his manic energy swirling around the room and almost intoxicating her with it's strength.

"You're funny." She smiled, then sat down on the chair by his bed.

"I don't get that a lot."

Crossing one leg over the other, there was that familiar clacking sound as her heels tapped together.

The Joker __loved__ that sound.

He leaned forward slowly, parting his scarred lips and biting down on the flesh with a curious expression on his face.

"Soooo, Harl _ee_ n. Harlequinn. Do you know what a Harlequinn is, Doc?" He purred, mashing his lips together and squinting his eyes.

"A faithful valet," The Joker spoke, his emerald eyes glittering in the light above, "Coy, mischevious, yet romantic and light-hearted."

Harleen was blushing and urged him to continue.

"Funny, about your name," He said, looking at his nails, "You seem so tight. Wound up. Serious. It's a shame, really," he drifted off, looking around him silently.

She felt her stomach fall, and directed her attention to the clipboard in front of her. Holding a pen in her hand, she exhaled gently and smiled as good as she could.

"You've only just met me." She said meekly, "You don't know."

Sharing silence for a moment, she took another key out of her pocket and took a deep breath.

This is how she would open him up.

She hoped.

He cocked a brow at her as she undid his restraints and then handed him a cup of steaming hot coffee, the best way she knew how. Everything organic, cream, honey, cinnamon, vanilla, and high quality espresso. She knew he'd love it.

The Joker grinned devilishly, "This can be considered a weapon, you know."

Her heart was racing so fast she felt she would vomit. With all the stories about how he's attacked psychiatrists, she was surprised he didn't leap at her as soon as she undid his restraints.

"So, tough guy," he took a sip of his coffee, and immediately what he was going to say was long forgotten as he stared down into the cup.

"Is something wrong?"

The Joker remained quiet, and she noticed he appeared exhausted, sunken in cheeks and dark circles, as if he was underfed, dehydrated, and on way too many medications. She made a mental note of that, but decided to bring it up another day.

"I don't expect you to open up so soon." She said gently.

The Joker looked at her dead in the eye. Harleen froze, but continued to hold the eye contact.

Slowly, he spoke, "I don't do summer flings. Sorry, dollface."

She smiled, "Good. Me neither." She perked up, attempting to change the energy of the room, "Wanna hear a joke?"

The Joker was so perplexed that he couldn't help the screeching laughter that ensued, a full belly laugh that was contageous, even coming from a killer clown. Harleen placed a hand over her lips and let out a tiny giggle, locking eyes with The Joker once more. He was intrigued by her curiosity of him, and slowly stopped laughing and leaned his head against the desk.

She couldn't help but look at him.

"They'll eat you alive in here." He warned, before succumming to a fit of giggles, "You're too soft."

She froze for a moment, having heard the guard say the exact same thing earlier, but she brushed it off.

"Right now I'm only worried about you." She said, clasping her hands together, "I think we can make a lot of progress."

The Joker laughed, "I think we can make a _lot_ of things."

The Doctor looked down, warmth travelling to the pit of her stomach and running through her body, "I'd like to try some unconventional methods."

"I'm sure you _would_ ."

Harleen blushed deeper and she swore steam was coming out of her ears, "Mr. Joker, please . . . Our relationship . . . is _strictly_ professional."

" _Good_ ," he chuckled, "I like them _strict_."

Harleen's nipplies hardened against her blouse and she crossed her legs in embarassment.

"I've been working with Warden and security," She began, looking away from the clown prince in front of her, "I want you to experience the Botanical Gardens, or go sit by the dock."

The Joker just stared at her.

"How can you treat a man like an animal and expect pills to make him better?" She asked outloud, then shook her head and turned back to The Joker.

"That's not what I am here to do. I'm here to help you."

"I'll be meeting back up with you in a week." She spoke, her stomach quivering as she put her things away.

"Aw, leaving so soon?" He pouted, leaning forward and looking up at her with droopy eyes. She could feel her heart yearning to create a smile instead. She could not get over the green of his eyes compared to the bruising on his face. But right now, she was in the middle of a plan, and as much as she wanted to stay and make progress with him, she had to keep her first few sessions with him short.

"I'll be putting you on new medication, taking you off most. You're dehydrated and you need an IV drip of saline so I'll make arrangements to get you to Medical and make sure nothing is serious. I'll also be -"

The Joker put his hands up for her to be quiet, and due to the power of his person, she immediately stopped speaking.

"You're not gonna ask how I'm _feeling_?"

She blinked a few times, "I don't think it's a relevant question in your case."

The Joker smiled, "You're different."

"Good day, Joker." She stood up, scared to turn her back to him in fear of getting killed.

"You wont be needing those with me." She said, pointing to the restraints, "But I'll have to put them back on before I go."

The Joker layed down on his bed, stretching out his limbs so that his sculpted stomach peeked out from his patient uniform, "I'm all yours, Doc."

She was momentarily distracted by the stretching and contracting of his muscles but shook the fog out of her mind and locked him back up. As she made her way out the cell and began to log up, he perked his head up.

"Say Doc, another one of those coffees tomorrow?"

"You know it."

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she left, all full of adrenaline and excitement.

It worked.

* * *

Okayyyyyyyyyy, sorry for the delay. I usually work from 7:30 AM to as late as like 1-2 AM and my only days off are Sundays, so I'm trying to write as much as I can.

Things will begin to pick up a little bit as Harleen discovers more of whats going down in Arkham, and I'm really excited for it!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. Sorry if it was a little short, I'm still trying to establish everything.

I'll be working on the next chapter immediately. I love all of you that have reviewed so far, stay spicy my babies


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